Tag: I guess I need a parenthood tag

I now have an 8 month old/almost 9 month old. She can crawl and just this morning she was standing up, holding my hands, and she let go and stood on her own for a few seconds. I was happy for her but also felt a little jealous of people who’s kids don’t walk until 14 months.

That constantly used expression, “they’re into everything” is certainly based off of fact. And it isn’t good enough to play with something like an age appropriate toy – those are for BABIES. Babies don’t think they’re babies. It’s very tricky.

So we’re at the stage where she crawls around, sees something she’s interested in (wires, dogs, knives, broken glass, smallpox vials – we still need to baby proof our house), goes for it, and then we use our evil ability to walk faster than she can crawl and move the thing she wants. It’s super fun.

Today, when I was moving a box of old CDs from out of her reach, I had a pang of empathy. I imagined what it would be like if every time I reached for my smart phone, a big giant took it away before I could get it, AND THEN STARTED USING IT HIMSELF THE BASTARD. Or if every time, I, a short person, was on my tiptoes trying to pull something off a high kitchen shelf, that same giant comes up behind me and then moves it even higher. What a douchebag. Then, every time this giant denied me the pleasure of learning about something exciting, he spoke to me in a language I don’t understand but in a tone I could tell is pretty condescending. That would suuuuuuuuck.

And the beauty of all of this is, even as we slowly baby proof – moving things as needed, installing safety devices – it still will never spare us from constantly having to be party pooping assholes because one of the super powers babies possess is finding the most dangerous thing or activity in any given environment. There will always be a new dead bug or a fresh dust bunny to find and taste.

I’ve even found myself grabbing a spatula, and literally saying to myself, “This is really important to me and is not for babies. I’m going to put it right here on the floor for safe keeping.” As if that will somehow replace the amazing excitement that is wires – there’s a SURPRISE at the end of them. You just can’t top that.

So as I enter into the new phase of parenthood – Evil Fun Destroyer, I have to remember, as I grit my teeth and my eyes water while my daughter scrapes a cookie cutter against the tile kitchen floor, making a sound that I can only assume is the soundtrack to hell, to allow her the little joys that won’t cause serious injury (save for my eardrums).

And, for real, y’all, if we are taken over by a race of giants we are screwed.

Lydia has started eating “solid” foods – gruel and the like. While I appreciate that the rice cereal I bought for her is organic, I’m not sure about their labor practices:

These babies don’t even get bathroom breaks – they have to wear diapers! Also it doesn’t seem very safe to force them to wear no clothes while they’re harvesting, that’s just going to lead to sunburns. They’re not even training their employees right – look how that baby is holding the watering can – there’s a handle for a reason for God’s sake!

I’m sure the employees get paid in empty gift bags, tissue paper, old pairs of glasses, and empty plastic soda bottles, so I’m not sure I should be paying as much as I did for this cereal. Surely with this workforce it could be much cheaper and they could still turn a profit.

We had a lot of fun during our trip to Disney World. I’ve gathered some terrible and stupid pictures to share with you. Here we go:

We stayed at the Polynesian, which has extremely polite trash cans:

This thing loves refuse, and wants yours inside it.

I think my favorite animatronic character of all the rides is this fabulously groovy disco scientist on Spaceship Earth:

She’s got it going on, both scientifically and fashion-wise.

On our final day we dropped by Downtown Disney (if you panic because you hadn’t been able to find any Disney Merchandise in the parks, you can come here and get some, too), where I found this disturbing scene (if you can’t tell from the glare, these are princess dresses MADE OF PRINCESSES):

Has anyone else been watching Hannibal? Doesn’t this look like something that could be on that show? In particular, the murderer who was working on a “color palette”? Can’t you just imagine someone whistling creepily to themselves while they made this, maybe repeating “my pretty dolls, my pretty dolls” to themselves over and over? Just me?

Lastly, because it’s the most natural change of subject, here’s a picture of baby as Aurora. I really don’t subscribe to “pink princess pretty girly girl” stuff. I’m not crazy about how gender-specific specific baby items have become. However, when your five year old niece asks for a Sleeping Beauty dress from Santa Claus and hopes that Lydia has one to match, well, then, by golly:

She’s drooling in this picture, which I think makes her more authentic character-wise because you know Sleeping Beauty’s pillow case was nasty with sleep drool.

And while I still DON’T embrace pretty pretty pink for all girls all the time, damned if she didn’t look cute. And, now that she’s being constantly mistaken for a boy, I have to steel myself to fight the power and not feel like I have to always dress her like this. Disney World does weird things to me.

We just got back from a week at Disney World. We went with my sister’s family (mom, dad, 5 year old niece, 2 year old nephew), my sister’s mother-in-law, my sister’s sister-in-law, and my mom. Everyone but Tom, Lydia, and I flew. We drove. Why? Because I didn’t want to deal with airport security with an infant and then didn’t want an infant meltdown on a plane. Also, in order to go on vacation with an infant, you have to bring half your house.

Princess Vespa has nothing on Lydia.

So, we drove. We split the conservatively estimated 9.5 hour trip in to a two day trip. I know everyone knows this but it really is interesting how much easier it is to get somewhere than to come back in terms of enthusiasm. You go from “WOO HOOOO! On our way to the best place ever to have the best time ever! A couple of days of driving is nothing compared to the nice real-world-problem-free time we’re about to have” to “Why there gotta be so much fucking land between here and home? Fuck land.” But we made it there and back easily, with only one true infant meltdown, so I consider that a success.

We decided to stay at one of the nicer hotels on property (Polynesian), mainly because the monorail provides people a way to get from one place to another without having to fold the damn stroller. This meant there’s aggressively helpful bell services, which meant tipping. I’m not a fancy person. I know this shocks most of you. But, every time I have to do it, which is rarely, I astonish myself with how utterly bad I am at tipping people in person. I can sign a receipt at a restaurant, easy, but literally having to hand someone money in a suave, subtle way is not something I’m capable of, apparently. Have you seen the Seinfeld where Elaine tries to tip a restaurant host to get a table right away (it’s the Chinese Restaurant episode)? I’m only slightly less bad than that. I hold the money as if it’s a magic wand, kind of jerk it up and down and brightly declare, in a sing-songy manner, “HERE YOU GO!” Which is only a little better than the approach I’m trying hard to suppress: awkwardly laughing, “HA HA HA!” then yelling, “MONEY!” But I do know that Tipping Anxiety is suffered by many and I console myself that I’m not the only one.

Another realization has to do with the previously mentioned strollers. A stroller provides you with a power you must fight against at all times. A stroller can make the meekest, most polite people monsters. I’m surprised that a comic book supervillain hasn’t been created whose weapon is a stroller and a place he or she needs to be. If you are the one with the stroller you are a sad, suffering human trying to maneuver through the throngs with your equally suffering children. If someone else has a stroller, what an asshole. You must resist the urge to ever so gently plow people over with the stroller, and it’s really hard because here you are with this thing that can totally plow people over.

Speaking of strollers, if you’ve been to Disney World, no doubt you’ve noticed the large number of people on scooters. You don’t have to have any kind of ailment or anything to use one of these things, just some money to rent one. At the beginning of the trip, I look at many of these people and scoff, thinking how silly and lazy it is to have one of these scooters. But mid-week I’m contemplating scooter jacking. There’s a seat! And a basket for your things! And you just scoot around in it and don’t have to move your legs! These people I previously looked down on have become the geniuses of our time in my mind. My sister and I came very close to trying to sit in the strollers ourselves. She even wished that there were strollers big enough for adults and then realized, “oh, wait those are called wheelchairs.” I don’t think anyone caught me, but if someone on a scooter looked at me at the right/wrong time they would see me staring at them as if I were starving and they were a hamburger.

Now we’re home and I’m back to spending much of my time on my butt on a couch. Which I suppose gives me the opportunity to intensely study the art of giving a tip, but knowing me I won’t do that and just panic again like always.

It’s a Personal Paci Holder. Description: the PPH keeps the paci in place for the employer so that she can continue to sleep and also have something to wrap her arms around and create warmth with.

My technique is flawless, that’s how I earned the position. The only problem is when I have to get up to use the bathroom or if my hand starts cramping. I say I’m pretty sure OSHA allows for not having to piss my pants but my employer says that’s not acceptable to her.

I asked how much it pays and she said, “a-guh,” which is a number I’ve never even heard of so I must be set for life! I’m not even officially certified, so to be able to start out with such a great beginning salary is really fortunate.